So much for taking it easy this morning.
But even if I’m being a bit rough, even if she’s sore and sensitive, she’s moaning in pleasure and I can tell she’s close to coming. Her body is shaky with strain, her breaths short and quick.
“Turn over,” I tell her gruffly, pulling out again and flipping her over on her stomach. I scoop my arms around her waist and pull her up until her gorgeous arse is right in front of me, two full cheeks I have to prevent myself from biting. That will come later. I wrap my hand around her waist, loving the sight of how small she looks against me, and position myself again.
“Make me come, Laz,” she says softly, her head down and her blonde hair spilling forward over her face. I don’t want to let her hide. I reach forward and make a fist in her hair, pulling it back so her neck is arched, the side of her face exposed.
“I’m working on it,” I tell her, tugging back sharply.
“God!” She cries out in a breathy burst of pain and then moans, “It’s working.”
With one hand pulling on her hair, I lean forward until my damp chest is pressed against her back, my cock so deep inside that we both suck in our breath. I slide one hand over her throat. I tighten my hold, choking her lightly, and put my lips to her ear. “How do I feel?” I whisper, licking up the rim.
Shivers erupt beneath me and I feel her throat moving against the palm of my hand. “Safe,” she manages to say. Her answer surprises me. She swallows and I let up the pressure.
“How do you feel?”
“Needy,” she groans. “Desperate. Mad. I feel like I might lose my mind. I need to come, please make me come.”
I moan, addicted to her own admissions, her own feverish hunger. The way she begs. I circle my hips, my fingers tightening around her neck and hair while my chest slides up and down against her skin. In turn she thrusts her arse back at me, and all thought and reason and sense of self are obscured by her satiny feel, the tight clench around my cock that threatens to take me to another world.
If she’s losing her mind, so am I. I’m no longer myself. Just an animal. I piston myself into her, over and over again, the headboard slamming against the wall. I can see us in the reflection of the painting above the bed, me fucking her raw, deep from behind, my muscles flexing as I push in, fast, hard, our skin blistering from such wild need.
My fingers work her clit, harder, faster, so slick and messy, slipping and sliding against her. Then she’s coming, and her pulse on her throat is racing into my palm. She cries out again, loud, frenzied, like she’s being obliterated in the most perverse way. The way she yells my name pulls the trigger.
I’m clutching her throat, her hair, and I’m coming. It’s like a dynamite set off deep inside. It blasts right through me, flattening my nerves.
Bloody hell. I don’t even know where I am right now.
I collapse against her, gasping for breath, burying my face in hair that I already feel holds all my whispered words, the words that never make it to paper.
Fuck. She holds every fucking part of me in that big, beautiful soul of hers.
I can’t swallow properly and my breath is slow to return. There’s always a moment of clarity after you come, and this one holds an earth-shattering truth.
You will lose everything if you lose her.
I don’t know why my mind is automatically going there, but it is.
I blink it away, shake my head, and slowly pull out.
I lie down beside her and she turns her head to face me. Her eyes are glazed, her cheeks bright red. I’ve left pink fingermarks on her neck.
She looks thoroughly fucked.
A lazy smile spreads across her lips.
“Room service?” she asks.
“Well, if it isn’t famous poet Lazarus Scott,” Jane says dryly as I approach the table. “Who apparently has some super human ability to not look like a piece of shit after a night of drinking.”
I laugh and sit down in the booth next to her, causing her to move over and spill her coffee onto the saucer. “Good morning to you, too. Too bad we’re not related by blood, you could definitely use some English in you to help you deal with this.” I wave my fingers over her face.
“Very funny,” she says. She does look worse for wear, bleary-eyed and pale with smudges of old makeup under her eyes. Doesn’t help that I think she’s in her pajamas.
“Oh, it’s nothing to do with being British,” Naomi says and I look across the table at her. She doesn’t look as bad as Jane and if I’m not mistaken, there might even be a bit of a twinkle in her eyes.
I squint at her and smile and have a feeling we’re both on the same page right now. As in, we both got lucky last night.
“Where’s Marina?” she asks and now I know for sure she’s onto us.
“She’s coming,” I tell her with a smirk.
“I bet she is,” Naomi says, taking a bite of her eggs.
We’re in a diner around the corner from the hotel. Jane and Naomi already got a head start on brunch, which is fine because Marina and I had room service earlier. Followed by more sex.
Followed by more sex.
And suddenly I’m hungry again.
“What is she doing?” Jane asks. “She is coming, right? I feel bad I didn’t get to see her as much as I should have.”
“Well then come down for Christmas this year. Bring your boyfriend. I’m sure your dad would love to meet him.”
She scoffs and gives me the death look which is further exaggerated by the fact she kind of looks like death. “Yeah, right. Getting out of that house, leaving LA, that was the best thing I’ve ever done.”
“Well you could always come visit me, you know.”
“And me,” Naomi pipes up.
“And me,” Marina says, standing at the end of the table. Naomi looks up at her and scooches over on the bench so she can sit down. “By the way, what are we talking about?”
She’s smiling, big, all teeth, all joy, looking around the table and pausing at me when she catches my eye. I can’t help but smile back.
Naomi clears her throat. “We were talking about Jane coming to visit all of us for Christmas and bringing her boyfriend.”
“And it’s a maybe,” Jane says. “Where were you?”
“Me?” Marina points to herself. She blushes. “Oh, I was just doing my makeup. Had to really cake this shit on to cover up my hangover.”
“You weren’t even drunk last night,” Jane says.
Marina shrugs, a tiny smile on her lips. “Still felt like ass this morning. Must have been the champagne.”
I stare at Marina’s neck. The reason she was late was because she had to whack on a lot of concealer to cover up the hickeys and marks I left on her neck. So in a way, she wasn’t lying.
“Oh, you feel like ass do you?” Naomi says, looking her up and down. “I don’t. Only Jane does. Wonder why.”
Jane frowns and then winces, as if the action hurt her brain. “What are you guys talking about?”
“Nothing much,” Naomi says. “Except you’re the only one who didn’t get laid last night.”
Marina stiffens. I laugh. Jane rolls her eyes.
“Oh, of course,” she says. “I should have figured something happened with you two.” She gestures to us with a dismissive wave of her hand before she sips her coffee.
“You’re not mad?” I ask. Not that it would matter but since Naomi gave me a lecture last night and threatened to cut my dick off, I thought Jane would lurch into overprotective friend mode as well.
“Mad?” she repeats. “I’m too hungover to be mad. No, listen. This needed to happen and I’m glad it finally did. If Marina had to lose her virginity to someone, I’m glad it was my stepbrother.” She pauses. “That still sounds so weird.”
“I’m glad it only sounds weird,” I tell her.
She looks across at Marina and grins. “I guess it’s my fault for giving you that condom.”
“What?” I ask. “Condom?”
Jane gave Marina a condom?<
br />
“I wanted her to be prepared. I’m not sure if you guys were trying to hide your attraction to each other over these years, but it was pretty obvious last night what was going to happen. Glad you got it over with.”
Not the best term to use.
“We got nothing over with, Jane. Don’t be snide.”
“I’m not being snide,” she says, mimicking my accent. “You know what I mean.” She looks at Naomi. “Let’s talk about the guy you screwed last night then since you didn’t come back into the room until five this morning.”
I’m grateful for the attention to go to Naomi now and enjoy the fact that we’re all looking at her like a bug under a microscope, but Jane’s comment has me bothered. As much as I’ve wanted Marina, as much as I’ve dreamed about finally being inside of her, feeling her from the inside, I didn’t get anything over with.
But, fuck. What if she did?
I look across at Marina. Even though Jane is badgering Naomi about her hook-up, Marina is watching me, her expression tentative.
Was that what Marina was doing with me? Did she sleep with me to finally get it “over with,” losing her virginity? Was I just a safe bet? Is that what she meant when she said she felt “safe” this morning?”
Marina is frowning at me now and I’m not sure what expression is showing up on my face. Fear, maybe. I guess that’s what happens when you sleep with your best friend and don’t have a discussion afterward to what any of it meant. It meant everything to me—it might have just been a stepping stone for her.
Oh fuck. What if this is just part of a lesson to her. The art of seduction. The very thing she asked me to teach her.
What if she’s going to take what she learned from me and use it on the next guy? After all, according to her, most of her problems came from the fact that she had no real physical experience with men. That she was so nervous about having sex with them, she’d freeze up. Now, now that doesn’t stand in her way anymore.
“Laz?” she asks quietly.
I need to hold it together. My mind is running away from me and it’s not running to a nice spot. I know my own shortcomings, my own habits, and over-analyzing anything right now about our relationship isn’t going to be good for anyone.
“Sorry, I was thinking,” I tell her.
“I can tell. What about?”
“The flight home,” I lie. I lie because there’s no way I’m going to tell her my real fears right now.
“Ah,” she says, buying it because I probably do look scared right now. “Don’t worry, we’ll get you nice and liquored up at the airport bar.”
“Ugh, don’t mention liquor right now, I’m going to be sick,” Jane says. “Lucky for me, I’m taking the Amtrak back to Boston. I’d hate to be crammed on a plane for five hours all hungover.”
“Again, Jane, you’re the only one in pain,” Naomi points out.
“Yeah, yeah,” she says. “But aren’t you guys all on the same flight?”
“Same row,” Naomi says.
Jane gives her a devious grin. “You should take the middle seat between these two.”
“As long as I get a window,” Marina says.
“Oh hell no,” Naomi protests. “I always have to have the window.”
“No,” Marina says, eyes full of panic. “I like to look out it and dream.”
“Yeah well I get airsick. Don’t you remember when we flew to Chicago?”
Marina looks at me. “Laz,” she whines.
“Don’t go crying to your boyfriend,” Naomi chides her. “Like a crying kid running to their mother.”
But I’m stuck on the word boyfriend.
Is that what I am?
What are we?
I look to Marina for the answer.
She gives me a small, shy smile.
I smile back.
Nod.
Guess that’s what I am.
Marina
“So Much Love”
* * *
“Matcha latte for Martina!” the barista calls out.
Loudly.
Right in my ear.
It’s not like I haven’t been standing by the pick-up counter for five minutes or anything.
Normally I would grumble about the fact that I’ve been coming to this coffee shop for years now and they still can’t get my name right. Normally I’d complain about how long it takes to make a matcha latte.
But I am no longer normal.
I am sunshine.
I grin at the barista and take my drink from him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” the guy, Chris, says. See, I can get his name right. “You look different.”
“Do I?”
“Yeah. Did you go on vacation or something? You’re all glowy.”
“I went to New York over the weekend,” I tell him. “Must be that east coast sun.”
He just nods and I turn away beaming at the compliment because I feel different, like I’m a whole new woman.
And the cause of that transformation just walked in the door to the coffee shop. Helps that Laz literally lives right across the street.
“Hiya,” Laz says to me, smiling broadly, causing those gorgeous crinkles at the corners of his eyes.
“Hi,” I tell him and even though I’m overjoyed to see him, there’s still a sliver of awkwardness between us. I haven’t seen him since we got off the plane yesterday. He kissed me goodbye as he dropped me off at my house and I wanted him to come in so I could fuck him in my own bed but he had already made plans to head to Long Beach to jam with Frank and the band, and I had a lot of stuff to do at my place.
So we made plans to meet here for coffee, like an actual date, and then see what happens next.
Honestly, I just want him to drag me across to his apartment, which is why I picked this location to meet, but I also want to keep my hormones in check for one moment and actually talk to him.
Because we have a lot to talk about.
Or, at least, one important thing.
And until we discuss said thing, I’m not sure what I should do right now. Do I go over and kiss him? Here, in public? Is that what we do? Is that acting out of line? I have no idea?
So I just stand there smiling at Laz and he stands there smiling at me and then a spot opens up across the crowded café (I swear to god, it’s always full of everyone and their screenplay in this joint) and I gesture to it with a shake of my head.
But he just comes over to me, places his longer fingers at the small of my waist, leans in to give me a kiss on the cheek. My heart cranks up, my pulse quickening. It’s like my hormones have been conditioned to come to life just from his proximity, from the moment his body heat interacts with mine, when his warm and spicy scent floods my senses.
“It’s too loud in here,” he says to me as he pulls away, eyes focused warmly on mine. “Let me get a coffee and we’ll take a walk along the river.”
“Sure,” I say but I barely hear it.
I watch as he goes to the counter and gets a coffee, black, which thankfully takes no time at all, and take in the sight of him. Today he’s wearing his usual get up, though he’s switched out the boots for burgundy, suede skate shoes, dark-blue jeans and a thin, black T-shirt that says San Antonio Music Fest in burgundy font that matches his shoes. Actually, the more that I stare at him, the more I realize that he’s put more effort than normal into what he’s wearing. He always looks good. You know, sexy rocker kind of good. Today he looks like he wanted to impress.
And I’m impressed. He could wear a paper bag and I’d be impressed. I’d be the most impressed if he were naked because that man has a body that begs to be shown off. It would be an extremely inappropriate way to go and get your coffee, but hey.
I can’t believe we’ve had sex, I think, for the millionth time. I can’t believe that man, my friend, that sexy British beast, had his dick deep inside of me. I can’t believe he made me come, over and over. I can’t believe I know what that all feels like.
He comes bac
k to me, coffee in hand. “Ready?”
I nod, wishing my heart would calm down a little. It’s just a walk. We’re just two friends with their drinks, heading out along the river, about to discuss what all the hot sex between them just meant.
The Los Angeles River runs pretty much right behind Laz’s apartment, with a pedestrian path working its way along the shore. It’s a nice little secret this area has, the river has been cleaned up, and at the moment, is full and flowing, with birds and foliage giving it the feel of an oasis in the middle of the city. Sometimes I even see people kayaking down it.
We start strolling along the path and I’m tempted to just ignore the weight that’s on my chest and talk about other stuff—like bees—but then Laz says, “So, you said we needed to talk?”
And at that, he takes my hand in his and grips it firmly.
Okay, here we go.
I clear my throat. “Uh, yeah. I do. So…”
I glance up at him. He’s looking down at me curiously. Maybe even nervously. Maybe I’m just imagining that.
“So…?”
“Right. Okay. This isn’t easy for me to say…”
His hand turns into a vice, clamping hard around mine.
I continue, “but I just wanted to know where we stand. With each other. Because yesterday when Naomi said you were my boyfriend, neither of us corrected her. So I was wondering if…that’s what you are? I mean, no pressure. I know we haven’t really discussed what happened after we had all the sex. And I don’t know if we’re still just friends. If we’re friends who are now sleeping together. Or if we’re something even…more…than that.”
Laz doesn’t say anything for a moment, comes to a stop. Closes his eyes and exhales through his lips.
Oh shit. Oh my god. Did I scare him off? Is he about to break up with me even though we’re not together?
I stiffen, bracing myself.
“What do you want?” he finally says, his voice low. He looks at me openly. “Do you want to be just friends? Do you want to continue sleeping together? Do you want me to be more?”
That’s so not fair, he just turned the whole question around on me.
Take Me To The Beach Page 45